


Triangulation

by Anotherlostblogger



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Journalism, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-06-17 07:03:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15455904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anotherlostblogger/pseuds/Anotherlostblogger
Summary: Ryan's one of the leading crime reporters for The Feed when Shane transfers to their paper. It's only when he hears rumors that Shane is not what he seems that he decides to intervene, for better or for worse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally inspired by something entirely different and a lot more case-centric, but now with the added bonus of inspiration from today's ep! And I'm not very good at case fics so that's unfortunately gonna take the back burner, me buckos!

_1973, Los Angeles, California_

_The Feed's Newsroom-Crime Department_

Ryan's seated at his desk, fingers poised over his typewriter like they've been for the past half hour, tongue sticking out just a little as he thinks of the perfect way to describe the rat bastard who'd been siphoning the local charity's money.

He couldn't exactly use terms like "bastard", however much he wanted to.

Even "crook" seemed a little editorial. What if he called him an uncharitable son of a-

Ryan startled as someone bumped against his desk. His eyes went up, and up, and _up_ to see a tall, clean-cut looking jerk in a plaid button down and blazer, balancing a type-writer case by the handle in one hand. From beneath the sweep of his brown hair he was wincing a little like his desk had jumped out and bit him.

"Can I help you?" he asked, and the taller man shook his head, and then finally seemed to look at him.

Okay, so Tall Bastard was a little good looking, if a bit dopey. 

"I'm starting today," the stranger said in a slow, ridiculous drawl that quickly got under his skin, "I was looking for my desk-"

"Well, it isn't here," Ryan said, before realizing just how much of an asshole he had to sound, especially when the taller man's face flushed.

"Here," he said, kicking himself away from his desk, his stiff body could use a break anyway. "lemme-"

"Mr. Madej?" a sweeter voice asked, and they both turned to see the secretary, Sara Rubin, standing behind him.

"That's me," he said, hugging his giant case to himself like an overgrown school child.

"Allow me to show you to your desk," she said, like he didn't bother her at all, but like she found his Midwestern shtick charming. Ryan sighed as he watched Madej trail after her like an overgrown shadow, and sank back behind his desk.

◉◎◉

He soon learned Madej's first name was Shane and he was also here to write for Crime. He got that and a pump of the arm when they were reintroduced by their boss later, and Shane graciously allowed them to start over as he took Ryan’s hand in his, swallowing it was his long fingers. 

Shane was from just outside Chicago-though why he left some potentially great papers behind to come all the way to the City of Angels was beyond Ryan-and he was as starry-eyed about working for this sorta joint as though this was his first job.

He was a hell of an intern, if that's what Ryan was supposed to believe. 

Apparently he'd done some sorta educational publishing before, and sorta submitted his own work to a local paper until he got the guts to go for it for real.

Ryan still wasn't entirely sure about him. They wrote about serious shit around here, and Shane didn't seem to take much seriously.

He got things done with a pleasant look on his face, and at his own speed, which wasn't fast.

It drove Ryan nuts.

"Stop smiling, people will think you're enjoying these murders a little too much," Ryan said as he walked past Shane's desk some weeks later, but Shane chuckled, with crinkly, amused eyes, like it was some great, inside joke between them.

God.

"It's not the subject that amuses me, Mr. Bergara," he drawled, polite as ever. "It's the way with which it was carried out." 

"You mean...the bludgeoning?" Ryan asked, blinking at the other man.

"Sure," Shane agreed, "Don't get me wrong, very nasty business, but...so clumsy too, I can't help but feel like he got what was coming to him." 

Ryan tilted his head, trying to remember the details. It wasn't his story, after all, "Was he the one who-"

"He hurt kids," Shane said, and it was the first time Ryan ever heard his voice sound like _that,_  that pleasant drawl all wrapped in steel, and Shane wasn't quite looking at him as he fussed with his notes next to him, with no hint of a smile on his face.

"Then good riddance," Ryan said vehemently, and when Shane met his eyes he smiled.

◉◎◉

Another thing about Shane that Ryan didn't seem to get was just how oblivious he was to feminine attention. Ryan didn't mind flirting a little with an informant to get something outta her that she wasn't likely to give. 

He knew he was a little scruffy, but all around not a bad looking guy. He could turn on the charm if he needed to.

Shane, however, seemed completely unaware of his own appeal.

 Ryan would chalk it up to another douchebag white guy sorta deal, but Shane seemed genuinely nice. 

Seemed. _Seemed_ nice. They were taught to be skeptical of everything, even each other. But even still... 

There was one time this prostitute came right up to Shane in the office and sat on his desk-on his side of the desk-in this itty bitty skirt, and this flattering tight shirt, and long curly hair and big batting eyes, and while he did seem a little flustered by her, it seemed more because she was sitting on his notes than how high up her thigh her skirt landed. 

Ryan had to hide his laughs, while Shane tried, desperately to help scoot her along without actually touching her. Not an easy feat considering how badly she wanted him to. 

He'd tried yucking it up with Sara later-another eyewitness to this horrible attempt at flirtation-but she'd seemed a lot less amused. 

"That's because he wants a real girl," Sara had said with a sniff, and Ryan had to keep from asking, 'What, like you?' as he looked at her in her glasses, white blouse, over-the-knee length skirt, and sensible shoes.  

Sara was cute, and modest, and quirky, and very obviously smitten with Shane.

Which was a pity, because Shane clearly had no idea.

◉◎◉

They were working on this story about Washington and some suspicion about a certain break-in at the democratic headquarters recently and potentially more, but they were working from LA so they had to find informants from the scene.

At this point, their boss now recognized how well they worked together and called them Berdej when he assigned them to the same story (usually in a loud yell, which had them running to his office with “what’d we do” looks between them) and things were beginning to click into place when Ryan realized that their "in" might be through the little lady herself.

"Hey, Sara," he said when he sat on the side of her desk, watching as she arched a brow up from behind her glasses.

"Yes, Ryan?"  she asked, and yes, he did notice how quickly she'd stopped calling him Mr. Bergara-it might've had something to do with him dating a few of her friends.

"You know Brent Bennett, right?"

Sara's eyes narrowed. "You know that I know Brent, Ryan."

"I mean, are you two still in touch?" he asked innocently. Brent was a White House correspondent, who'd started over here originally before moving up the political ladder. He was also Sara's ex. They'd had a bit of a split some weeks before Shane had transferred to this office.

"We're friendly, if that's what you mean," she said.

"Great!" Ryan said, "So you wouldn't mind getting a list of names from him about-"

"Ryan!" Sara cried. "I can't do anything like that for you."

"Aw, c'mon," Ryan pouted. 

"No," Sara said, already back to typing, but Ryan had his trump card, and he leaned in real close so he could lay it down gently.

"What about...for Shane?"

She stopped typing.

◉◎◉

A few days later, and Ryan was working on something else for the story when a file was dropped at his desk. He looked up in time to see Sara taking off her cardigan as she sat at her own desk, decidedly not looking at him.

Ryan fumbled as he opened the file and saw it: the list.

He could've jumped for joy.

In fact, he did.

"Sara, you're a gem," he said, going over to her desk and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Ugh," Sara said, but she was clearly trying not to smile as Ryan did a little celebratory dance near the desk. 

"Did he say anything else?" Ryan asked, as his eyes skimmed over the list. 

"Well," she drawled out, "I mean, he did mention something about The Post's investigation into Watergate-"

Ryan's hand clasped hers so quickly she was practically yanked out of her chair as he pulled her along past all the desks all the way to Shane's-her curls coming out of her bun along the way.

Shane was on the phone, but he looked up at them, and then their clasped hands, which Ryan quickly let go of hers, and said, "Tell 'em what you just told me."

Sara, clearly flustered from being dragged over here, and also maybe at having Shane's full attention on her, said, "The Post has been looking into Watergate and Brent was able to get me a list of something The Post boys had been working on and-"

Ryan handed him the list, Shane’s eyes scanning it a mile a minute, face lighting up with recognition. 

"Sara! I could kiss you," Shane emphasized, and Sara blushed. 

◉◎◉

"Poor Sara," Drew Ilynyckyj from Foreign Affairs laughed with Ryan when they went out for drinks after work. He was generally a pretty serious guy, real clean-cut, but he liked to go shoot the shit as much as the rest of them. "She doesn't stand a chance."

"Aw," Ryan said, feeling a little bad. "I mean, I don't know about that-"

"It's not her fault," Drew intervened and Ryan gave a nod in acknowledgement. "Shane's just..."

"I mean, he's pretty queer, isn't he?" Drew asked, and Ryan almost choked on his drink.

"What?"

"I mean, he's not exactly a Man's Man is he?" and that was true. He didn't understand sports at all, and all of his musical interests were from decades ago. "He doesn't exactly seem of...the feminine persuasion,"  Drew said, nice and slow to make sure Ryan got it. He was from LA, he wasn't exactly a kid. He knew what that meant.

Sort of.

"I hope you're not going around telling everybody that," Ryan said, and it came off more gruff than he intended it to. Those were dangerous words, even in Los Angeles. 

Drew laughed, smile fading only a little when he saw how much he'd gotten under Ryan's skin.

"Calm down, Bergara," he said, giving him a gentle thump on the arm. "Nobody thinks you two are bumping uglies." 

What? Him, kissing Shane? With all those hard lines and frustrating, ridiculous angles? How'd he even reach? Ryan'd had a lot of shit he'd had to put up with to get this far, but so far nobody had ever accused him of being a homosexual.

Ryan bristled and Drew laughed again. "Don't worry, everybody knows you're a lady killer," he teased.

"Fuck, Drew, you gonna propose or something?" Ryan asked, and Drew lifted his drink in salute. 

Back on stable ground.

◉◎◉

 Ryan would be lying if he said he'd been able to really focus on anything else since that conversation with Drew.

When he got back to work on Monday, he startled when Shane brushed by him, and Shane laughed before realizing how spooked Ryan looked. "Sorry, Bergara," he said more gently. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said, forcing himself to act like things were cool again. "I think I need a drink."

Shane's eyes crinkled in amusement, "I think coffee is about as strong as what you'd want at nine am," and Ryan grinned in acknowledgement. "Maybe so."

Shane came back with coffee for both of them, and leaned against his desk when he passed it off-their fingers brushed and Ryan almost shook his coffee all over his desk. Luckily Shane steadied it for him just in time. While Ryan's face flamed, Shane's eyes were all-too-understanding. Ryan wondered if he'd always had that sad tilt to them.

"Trademark Polish sad eyes," Shane answered with a little smile, so Ryan realized he'd said it out loud. Fuck, where was his brain this morning?

"Oh." 

Shane was smiling at him, more knowingly than he'd like, and as he saw Sara moving about in the background he got an idea.

"We should get drinks sometime," he said, and he looked back to see Shane's eyes widened in surprise.   
  
"I'd like that," Shane said, and he ducked his head to smile into his cup, and suddenly everything felt so close, he had to get out of here. 

"Well, I'm just going to-" he gestured at his typewriter, and Shane nodded, taking the hint. 

"See you later," he said, and Ryan wished he didn't think that midwestern accent was cute.

"See you."

◉◎◉

They ended up going out for drinks not very long after.  

It was a themed bar, one of those new tiki places, which was kind of fun, and seemed more Shane's speed. The lights were dim, and the music wasn't so loud that you couldn't have a decent conversation. 

Shane trailed after him like a puppy, and looked like this was his first time out...ever. Ryan couldn't tell if that was a sign that he should've done this long ago, or if he shouldn't have done this at all, but he kept feeling Shane's eyes on his face and he sort of wished Shane would stop looking at him like that, it made it hard to think. 

He got a scotch, and Shane got some...ridiculous fruity concoction, that made him sip out of some crazy straw while Ryan tried not to stare right back at him as he fumbled to get the stupid piece of plastic in his mouth. 

Shane caught his eyes and smiled with just his eyes. 

Fuck, Ryan thought, looking away. This was going to be harder than he thought. 

"Okay, so," Ryan began, leaning against the bar, "I brought you here because, well. I've been thinking."

Shane leaned in, familiar and sweet, entirely eclipsing his light in the already dim space with his tall form and his bright grin, "That's always a good sign."

Ryan cleared his throat, coughing into a laugh, "Yeah, yeah. But I was thinking, about, you-" his face flamed and he ducked his gaze so he missed whatever look Shane sent his way before he managed to stammer out, "And Sara."

Abruptly the shadow had moved. Ryan looked up, in time to see the surprised look on Shane's face. 

"Sara?"

"Yeah," Ryan said, his voice cracking only a little. "You know, Sara Rubin-"

"I know who Sara is," Shane said defensively, and Ryan didn't want this to turn into a fight, so he held up his other hand placatingly. 

"I just mean, you know...." he leaned in and knocked elbows with Shane, trying for playful. "She's pretty into you, huh?"

"Is she?" Shane asked coyly, and this was one of those moments where he was hard to read. He didn't look disgusted but he wasn't exactly jumping for joy either. 

"C'mon, man, you have to notice the way she looks at you," Ryan insisted, and Shane's big brown eyes flickered back to his and Ryan felt something churn in his stomach, and Shane took a long sip of his drink.

"And, that way you know, people wouldn't say-"

"Say what?" Shane asked, and his voice had an edge to it.

"Nothing," Ryan said quickly. "Just-"

"Just what?" 

"People get curious, that's all," Ryan said, and Shane's eyes narrowed at him until he felt about two inches tall.

"D-don't you like Sara?" Ryan asked in a small voice.

"Can’t a man be single? You're single, aren't you?" Shane asked him almost accusingly and Ryan hesitated, before nodding. "Divorced."

"Oh," Shane said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Ryan hadn't thought about it in a while, hadn't allowed himself to. 

"It's fine," he said, and this time they both took a drink.

"I do like Sara," Shane said softly. "Alright?"

Ryan's stomach flipped a bit at that. Maybe he needed to go lighter on the alcohol. 

Ryan licked his lips, and tried not to notice when, out of the corner of his eye, he could feel Shane watch his mouth. "Alright." 

"So what do you suggest?" Shane asked finally.

"I mean, you could always ask her out," Ryan said helplessly, as Shane continued to look at him like he was the biggest idiot on the planet. 

"I didn't realize you took such an interest in your coworkers lives," Shane said candidly, and Ryan felt even worse. "I like to think that we're friends."

The look Shane gave him then was gentler, "I like to think that too."

◉◎◉

When they left the bar that night, they split a cab, and Shane scooted to the other end, and Ryan scooted in right next to him, almost too close to him, but a bit too drunk to notice-or rather, to care.

"To think, I thought we were going to talk about something else tonight," Shane professed loudly, and Ryan laughed at him. "Oh yeah? Like what?" 

The car hit a bump in the road and Ryan about fell in his lap- Shane's hands grasped him by arm and his wrist to catch him, the streetlight passing over his dark eyes so that Ryan's giggles faded back into his throat.

"Something," Shane said, and Ryan didn't know what to say. They got back to his apartment a lot sooner than he'd have thought, so he wasn't forced to say anything, really.

Shane squeezed Ryan's shoulder when he got out of the car that night, but his smeared, "Goodnight Ryan," against his ear, was something that haunted him until morning. 

◉◎◉

The next day it was like he the beginning of an entirely new Shane.

Shane dawdled at Sara's desk, and Ryan watched as she basked in his attention, which only grew in intensity over the following weeks and months-with little displays of affection and bouquets of flowers and kisses on the cheek when he came in.

Whatever was churning in his gut was just out of relief, he told himself, relief that Shane had sorted himself out. Drew was wrong, and he was right.

He wished it felt a little better. 

◉◎◉

When he went by Sara's desk, she was a lot nicer to him than before. Not that she'd ever been mean, but she'd always been a little wary.

Now she was positively beaming.

"Hey Ryan," she said when he came in, and if Ryan didn't know any better he'd say she was being flirty. 

"Good morning, Sara," he'd answer politely and crash at his desk, ready for the next eight or so hours of work.

"I got you something," she said sometime around lunch and he looked up in surprise to see a sandwich plated for him, homemade with nearly cut edges, something that hadn't happened for him in a couple of years at least. 

"Oh," he said, and he was so stunned, that's all he could say for at least a minute.

"That's...are you sure?"

Sara laughed, warm and sweet.

"You and Shane work so much," Sara said, "I worry you boys don't feed yourselves." 

She wasn't wrong. He and Shane mostly lived off of pizza and Chinese food at work, or they had been, before Shane had started bringing his lunch more recently. 

"Thank you," Ryan finally managed to say, looking around the corner to see Shane already eating the sandwich she must've made for him. "That's...really, really very nice of you." 

But Sara, sweet, shy Sara, managed to surprise him again when she winked.

◉◎◉

Some time later, Ryan was in bed, the one that he'd downsized from after the wife and he had split and he had to get used to sleeping on a twin again.

His apartment wasn't much to look at, but he didn't really need a big place, he'd reasoned, when it was just him anyway.

Still, the worst problem he'd discovered since the divorce was how much trouble he had sleeping now that he was alone.

He self-medicated on the worst of nights, but when Ryan reached for the bottle again it was empty, but for the dregs.

Shit.

Well, there was only one thing for it then, Ryan reasoned with himself as he sat back up and got dressed again. 

Back to work. 

◉◎◉

It wasn't quite midnight when he parked at the office that night. 

He saw a light on, and knew from experience it was some newsie that hadn't been able to let go of the story. Some part of him hoped it was Shane. 

In fact, he recognized that son of a bitch by the bow in his back from where he leaned over his desk, likely cross-referencing his notes, Ryan figured, or at least, that's what he thought until he saw her.

Sara sat back on his desk, flirting with him, nice and easy. Even with the boost of the desk, Shane still had to bend over low to look her in the eyes, his palms resting on either side of her thighs as they traded gentle words for kisses.

As far as he could tell, they still had all of their clothes on.

It was not the most inappropriate thing he'd ever walked in on, but it certainly felt like the most intimate.

Clearly Drew had had Shane all wrong, and poor Sara, too. They looked almost sickeningly sweet together even in the poor lighting of the shitty office building, they made it their own.

Sara brushed a hand over his hair, running a finger over the shell of his ear, and Ryan stood, spellbound, until he thought he heard her say his name.

Ryan almost slammed into the wall to get away without looking too closely in his panic, but Shane had already stood to his full height and was looking at him. 

 "Sorry," Ryan was saying more than once as he practically leapt over desks to grab a pile of notes-really, any notes-and get back to the elevator. He almost tripped over himself to get there before Shane could, but Shane made it to him at the same time he did, and Ryan, heart about to pound out of his chest, succeeded in pounding the elevator button and dropping at least half the papers to his feet.

"I was going to get that," Shane said without malice, "Here let me-"

Shane bent over to help him pick them up, and put the, carefully, atop Ryan's pile.

He was blushing. Why was he blushing? 

They were just smooching. And barely smooching at that. He'd done more than that. Why was he being a kid about this? He could just say sorry.

"S-sorry," Ryan said again, forcing himself to meet Shane's eyes, but Shane didn't look upset.   
  
"You're going to need to stop saying that," Shane said gently, "Or I'm going to think something's wrong."

"You're right," Ryan said quickly, and Shane's brow furrowed. "Okay, now I _know_ something's wrong." 

"No, no, no," Ryan stammered, "It's just. You know." He gestured with his full arms towards where Sara was collecting her things and Shane's eyes lit up in recognition. 

"Oh," he said. "That's fine."

"Oh," Ryan said in relief, "Yeah, I didn't mean to intrude or-"

"You're not an intrusion," Shane said, and Ryan was aware of how tall he was, how far back he had to lean back his head to see him now when they were this close. God it had to be worse with Sara. Why did he keep comparing himself to Sara?

"And besides, didn't you want...." Shane began to say, "-isn't this what you wanted?"

What a question.

Ryan opened his mouth, to say something, though what, he wasn't sure, when Sara appeared just behind them.

"You ready to go?" she asked, and Shane nodded, and they all stepped into the elevator together. 

The elevator seemed to take three times as long to get anywhere, and Ryan tried not to look at anybody but just the wood paneling in front of him as though it would keep Shane and Sara from starting to kiss in front of him again.

They didn't.

That didn't stop Ryan from letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd held the moment the elevator door opened, and they were released to their floor.

Shane and Sara walked alongside him into the parking garage too, and Ryan was beginning to regret taking all these papers with him.

"Long night ahead?" Shane asked, and there was a little amusement in his tone like he knew Ryan had grabbed a bunch of bullshit with him on his way out the door.

"Yeah," Ryan said with a huff of laughter, and Shane watched as Sara strolled a little out of earshot.

"Me too," he said, with a surprisingly lecherous grin that made Ryan's face turn red.

"Well, damn," he said with a surprised laugh and Shane winked at him, making him feel that cozy warmth from the drops of alcohol he'd had earlier catch up to him again.

"You should come over some time," Shane said, and Ryan's alcohol-addled brain made that statement a lot fuzzier than he should allow. "What?"

Shane gave a pleasant shrug, hands in his pockets, all tall and ridiculous looking, and more handsome than Ryan wanted to admit. 

"Sara wouldn't mind. We've moved in together," Shane said, "Just wanted to say...you're always welcome."

"Oh," Ryan said, and he could've kicked himself for getting so flustered when Shane was probably just trying to thank him for giving him the kick in the pants he needed to ask Sara out. 

Sara abruptly appeared at his side and nuzzled into her boyfriend and he wrapped an arm around her and smiled up at Ryan who was suddenly eager again to get away. 

"Maybe some other time then," Ryan said, and Shane gave him a little smile. "Some other time then."

And that was that. 

Or so he thought. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan gets an invite to dinner and more than he bargained for.

Things escalate from there.

What with Watergate, and Nixon's near-miss impeachment (the bastard "resigned" just before it could make a difference and, a month later was "pardoned" like none of all that shit mattered) it was hard to pretend like things weren't simply happening at a much faster rate than usual.

Nevertheless, "Tricky Dick" was out, and a lot of it had to do with good journalism. 

Even in LA, the role of the media was shifting: they had the power to change the course of history, (Or as Shane said, "to change how it was written," and that thrummed beneath Ryan's skin like a second wind of energy he hadn't realized he'd ever missed.

For the month of August to September of '74 things were such a whirlwind that Ryan almost forgot the...strangeness of what had almost happened (or not happened) that one fateful night.

Almost.

◉◎◉

Sara continues to look after him in a way that would be borderline inappropriate if she wasn't a secretary. She is, though, even if she's not _his_ — even if she never did things like bringing him lunch and typing up his notes when they get too messy and scheduling his calls all nice and shit, before. It's not that she was a bad secretary, but nobody expected her to do that for everyone, and Ryan wasn't her boss.

That doesn't ease the feeling in his chest he gets when she leans over to do something for him sometimes, like re-arranging the chaos that is his desk, and he suddenly gets a primo view straight down her shirt, right to her lacy bra and the peaks and valleys of her chest. 

He corrects himself in time, he thinks. In time to shake that out of his head like an etch a sketch so he can still smile at Shane like he wasn't just leering at his gal.

It'd be a lot easier, Ryan thinks to himself some weeks later, if this sort of thing didn't seem to happen quite so often. 

◉◎◉

It'd be a lot easier, too, Ryan thinks sullenly one afternoon as Sara hovers nearby at Shane's desk like there aren't cases to file; if they weren't so lovey-dovey in front of him all the time. Yeah, okay, so Ryan had something to do with them getting together, sure. 

That didn't mean he needed to see Sara kicking her legs on Shane's desk like a schoolgirl while Shane gave her puppy-dog eyes every other goddamn afternoon.

Ryan glowered as he looked around the room, wondering if any of the other reporters cared as much about this, but nobody seemed to notice.

Well, he was sure they were just ignoring it to be polite.

And that's not to say he wasn't...happy for them. He was!

Right? Right.

He was happy.

But they didn't need to go and...rub in their happiness in front of him and the whole office like that all of the time. 

That was just...rude.  

It made him all distracted and irritated, and he typed at a worse rate than usual, getting at least 10% more typos everytime he heard the two lovebirds giggle about something.

Disgusting.

Ryan made the mistake of glancing up in time to see Shane rest his hand on Sara's thigh — just above her knee, through that thin, goldenrod stocking she wore with her penny loafers.

Something inside him snapped. He needed to take a break. 

◉◎◉

He was maybe out on the deck for a couple minutes, five tops, when the door opened from behind him and Shane joined him.

He couldn't see him yet, but somehow, he knew it was him.

Ryan took another drag from his cigarette when Shane's bony hips hit the balcony's edge as he leaned against it, all casual and cool, with his back to the smoggy skyline, entirely missing the view (not that it was much of a view). 

"Can I bum a light?"

Ryan took out his lighter.

"And a fag?"

Ryan took out one of those, too.

He liked the way the piece looked between Shane's fingers a little too much to allow himself to look at his face. 

Ryan puffed out at the city, doing his best to ignore the warmth he felt by his side until Shane choked, quietly, on smoke.

Ryan smiled around his cig and turned to face Shane who was doing his best to pretend like nothing had happened. It might've worked if his face hadn't gone flush, and his eyes hadn't developed a slightly watery sheen.

"You don't smoke much, huh?" Ryan teased him, and Shane gave a little shrug and stuck his cigarette back into his mouth like nothing had happened.

Ryan cut his eyes once they lingered a second too long on the cig in between Shane's pink lips. He was right.

"You smoke too often," Shane said finally, but his voice was a bit hoarse, and Ryan shivered a little like a breeze had just brushed against the nape of his neck.

Shane was looking at him too closely. Shane never seemed too afraid to look.

"It's not a drug," Ryan said, perhaps too defensively, the fag between his fingers, as Shane's warm, amber eyes were drawn towards his.

"It makes you shake," Shane said gently, "When you're not on it-"

"Okay," Ryan huffed, and he took another drag, almost spitefully, or perhaps it was to soothe his nerves that the cig usually seemed to soothe, "Or, I'm just an anxious sort of person."

"That too," Shane said, and he was looking at him so, so gently, like if Ryan would just let him, he would treat him so, so carefully. Like he would brush the hair from his face, and put something else between his lips and on his mouth and just hold him if he wanted him to.

Ryan dropped the cig to the ground and put it out with his boot. 

"I'm going inside," he said, stating the obvious like he was ending something more than this conversation.

He took a step towards the door and suddenly there was a hand on his arm, and he was pulled back and Shane was there and looking at him, and for a second Ryan thought-

He didn't know what he thought. It was hard to think with Shane looking at him like that. 

"Come over tonight," Shane said. 

And Ryan forgot everything — forgot smoke, and Sara and Andrew saying "he's queer, isn't he?" and all the reasons he should say no.

"Okay," Ryan said, and Shane was smiling, in the way that softened all of his already soft edges and pulled at something deep inside Ryan that brought the voices back in a loud, screaming unison that told him 'You're in trouble.'

◉◎◉

Ryan wore a respectable button-down shirt, a nice white one without any "crazy patterns" and a brown knit tie and blazer. His hands were sweating when he reached the door to Shane and Sara's place. He couldn't explain why.

He stood at the door for a good minute and a half before he worked up the courage to knock on the door.

Shane opened it almost half a second later like he'd been waiting for him. He was bathed in warm lamplight, in a cream button down, and corduroy trousers. His hair looked so soft Ryan wanted to stick his hands in it.

"Hi," Shane said, and Ryan shoved the sweating bottle of wine in Shane's direction and tried to pretend he wasn't embarrassed that he didn't know his wines half as well as the ex-wife had. Shane barely glanced at the label and made nice, warm remarks about him bringing something when he didn't need to, while Ryan shuffled his feet somewhere in the entryway. 

Shane had disappeared off into the kitchen somewhere while Ryan finally got a good look at the place where the big guy called home.

It was homey, in browns and greens and blues. There was a nice television set and leather sofa, and several bookcases, some art and movie posters, and what looked like a butterfly, pinned behind glass-

"Oh, excuse me," Shane said, startling Ryan out of his discovery. "Where are my manners?"

Ryan didn't have time to say much of anything though because Shane was now standing behind him and warm, big hands were covering his shoulders, just for a second, before his coat was coming off him, and he was handing it to Shane like this was something they did every day.

"You didn't have to-" Ryan started, but Shane waved him off, his coat now hanging over one of his long, surprisingly defined arms.

"I'm going to be a good host-"

"I'm sure you don't need-" Ryan went on, with a little self-conscious laugh.

"I'm going to be good for you,"  Shane said, like that settled it, and Ryan couldn't think of anything to say to that.

◉◎◉

Luckily, he didn't have to. 

Sara had entered the room in a striped, orange and white dress, and her hair was down, curls hanging over her shoulders.  
  
"Ryan," she said warmly, and she took his hand and he tried not to feel so weirdly guilty.

Shane came and pecked his girl on the cheek, and said, "I'm going to check on the fish," and went back into the kitchen. 

"Wow," Ryan said, watching him go, "He helps with the cooking?"

Sara's eyes danced as she nodded, "He's a modern man."

"That's admirable." Ryan barely knew his way around the stove back home, and most of that fumbling knowledge had come from the bachelor's life. Maybe Shane had had better luck. 

"It really is," Sara gushed. "And really, he's just been so excited for you to-"

At that moment there was a knock at the door.

"Oh!" Sara said, and she gave her curls a quick check in the hallway mirror. "She's here."

"She?" Ryan asked, but then Sara was opening the door, revealing a pretty, tall, thin woman with long blonde hair and big blue eyes and a fashionable mini dress.

"Kelsey," Sara was saying, leading her in, "This is Ryan."

"Hello," Ryan said.

"Hi Ryan, " Kelsey said, and she looked coyly behind her lashes and blue eyeliner.

'Oh,' Ryan thought, as Shane came back into the room, wearing a half-apron just over his trousers, and beaming at Ryan like he'd brought him the world.

'That bastard.'

◉◎◉

Along with the wine Ryan brought, there was halibut, roast potatoes and green beans served at a table for four.

Shane was the perfect host, and Sara the perfect hostess, but Ryan still couldn't help the feeling of wanting to kick Shane from his spot at the head at the table for not telling him about Kelsey ahead of time.

The thing was, he didn't have a reason to be mad about it. Kelsey was beautiful, and funny, and warm and outgoing, and had many admirable qualities. She was a meteorologist for a local television station and hoped to be a full-fledged news anchor soon.

She was smart and had ambition, and made eyes at him from across the table.

He'd not had such an obvious 'open' with a girl in a long time. 

So why did he feel cheated? 

◉◎◉

"We should do this again sometime," Shane said when they were done all done eating. 

"We should," Kelsey said enthusiastically. There wasn't much she didn't say enthusiastically. 

Kelsey had remarked on how good the dinner was enough times for the four of them, so Ryan wasn't going to say anything, but it was actually really, really good.

He sat back in his chair and rubbed his stomach contentedly, stretching.

Shane gave him a look, as though to remind him of his manners in front of a lady, but at the moment Ryan couldn't be bothered. 

It was sometime close to 8 now, and Kelsey had touched his shoe under the table with her own for the third time that night.

Ryan managed to smile.

"Well, I hate to be a party pooper, but I need to get up early tomorrow if I'm going to get a run in before work," Kelsey said, and she stood up to go.

Ryan gave her a polite nod, before realizing that Shane and Sara were both giving him distinct 'looks'.

"Well, have a good-" Ryan began to say, and Shane kicked him, actually kicked him under the table. 

"Do you need a walk to your car?" he managed to ask through a wince, and Kelsey brightened.

"That would be lovely."

 As Ryan stood and helped her with her coat, Shane gave him a wink.

Ryan wanted to break something.

◉◎◉

The walk to her car was quiet, but for the sound of Kelsey's heels against the sidewalk, and Ryan's own shoes scuffing the ground, his hands in his pockets.

He realized quickly how much Shane and Sara had moved along discussion for them that night.

Now it was just the two of them.

Fuck.

Although it couldn't have taken longer than two minutes from the apartment complex to her car, it felt like an eternity.

Finally, they stopped in front of a Volvo station wagon, and Ryan let out a sigh of relief.

Kelsey fiddled with her keys. "This is me," she said obviously, and she looked up at him expectantly.

If he wanted to he could kiss her right now, Ryan knew. 

He could take her in his arms and kiss her and press her up against the cool metal of her car, covered in leaves from the tree it was parked under and she'd let him.

She'd probably take him inside the car, and they'd go in the back seat, and he'd pull her skirt up over her thighs, and she'd drop her panties and help him with his buckle and it'd be a quick, easy fuck.

It'd be good, too. Maybe half as good as she was, but he couldn't know for certain.

He could kiss her and date her and even marry her, maybe, fuck, who knows. 

Which is why Ryan knew he was losing his mind when instead of kissing her he did the opposite. 

"Great," Ryan said, beginning to take a couple steps back. "Well. Goodnight." 

She was disappointed, he could tell, but she masked it well. She was a generous girl.

"Goodnight!" she said, still sounding cheery enough, and he waited until her car was started and she took off okay.

At least she couldn't say he was a complete asshole.

He'd forgotten his jacket inside, and the air was beginning to get to him, but maybe he deserved it. Maybe he deserved it for wanting something he couldn't put a finger on, that he shouldn't put a finger on, that he shouldn't touch. Maybe he didn't deserve to be happy for wanting something that wasn't his.

He stood there alone in the street for a long, long while, until one by one, the streetlamps flickered and turned off. 

◉◎◉

He walked back to Sara and Shane's apartment.

It was late, but not so late that Shane might not be awake.

He knocked, but not too loud, just in case. 

His keys were in that jacket, damn it, he was stuck if Shane didn't-

The door opened, and there he was.

"Hi," Shane said in a soft voice. 

"I forgot my-"

"Oh, yes," Shane said, and he ducked inside before returning with his jacket, and stepping out into the hall. He shut the door gently behind him and turned back to Ryan.

"Sorry, she's just gone to bed," he explained as he handed Ryan his coat.

Ryan shook his head, "Sorry it took me a while to come and get it-" he said as he shrugged into it, but when he looked back up at Shane he looked unduly satisfied.

"You don't have to apologize for that," Shane said cheekily, and Ryan shook his head. 

"So," Shane said like they were spilling gossip. "Are you and Kelsey going to-"

"No," Ryan snapped, more harshly than he meant to, judging by the surprise and hurt in Shane's eyes. Ryan rubbed at his temple. Jesus Christ.

Abruptly he felt a warm hand over his shoulder and looked up, "Sorry," Shane said, and he sounded more heartfelt than Ryan could handle. "Is it too soon?"

Too soon? Ryan winced. He hadn't even thought about the ex-wife in all of this, what sort of a man was he?

"I don't know what it is, I mean she's a lovely girl-"

"But...." Shane prompted. 

"I can't while I still..." Ryan swallowed and he didn't know what to do with the look in Shane's eyes, feeling shame color his cheeks, and foolishly he felt tears prick in the corners of his eyes. He was tired, so tired, and he was going to be alone forever. "I can't."

Shane did something surprising then: he pulled Ryan into a hug.

Ryan did something surprising too: he allowed himself to let go. He felt tears spill over onto Shane's button-down as he held onto him, as tightly and fiercely as he could.

"It's going to be okay," Shane said, and his breath was warm against Ryan's ear. His scent and proximity were heady. Ryan felt another hot tear run down his cheek.

Shane pulled back, hands still firmly on either of Ryan's shoulders and then, clasped gently on either side of his face, tilting it up to meet his soft, soft eyes.

"I'm going to help it be okay." 

And somehow Ryan believed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be the main person invested in this, but what a surprise that it's gotten away from me! Whoops!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan isn't great at accepting help, especially from Sara and Shane.

Ryan slept on their couch.

He wouldn't have if Shane hadn't insisted, and he felt just wobbly and unsteady enough to concede when maybe he wasn't at his best to drive.

He laid there and counted each tick of the arts-and-crafts Coocoo clock from his spot on their leather couch, face smushed into the pillow from beneath the furry wool blanket Shane gave him before he'd disappeared down the hall. He still felt Shane's hand patting his shoulder like a brand. 

There was a glass of half-drunk water on the coffee table for him too. If he looked at it too much he felt his eyes tear up again, goddamnit. 

He was going to get up and leave early before they woke up.

◉◎◉

That didn't happen. 

He woke up to the smell of coffee and bacon, the sound of sizzling pans and hushed voices in the kitchen. 

Ryan didn't want to get up, but he felt more and more like a petulant child as he hid under the blanket, so he forced himself to sit up. He slept all dressed like he'd spent a night in the office. His back was stiff. His shoes were by the rug. 

Ryan toed into them and stood, stretching, and debated the merits of trying to slink out now. 

He paused by the door, his hand reaching out for the handle, and let it fall by his side. 

Even he hadn't reached that low.

Instead, he awkwardly approached the kitchen, which had been warm and yellow in the lamplight last night and now was awash in the light of day. 

 Sara was at the stove. She was wearing a robe around what appeared to be a nighty. The robe, which was presumably there for his benefit, slipped a little over her shoulder when she went to stir something on the stove, and the sun-kissed the bare skin of her shoulder.

Ryan looked away before he could see too much, at the floor which seemed safe, and saw Sara's fuzzy slippers and cleared his throat.

Finally, she saw him.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Sara said warmly. 

"Morning," Ryan said, scratching the back of his neck and feeling sheepish. He wondered what Shane had told her.

He didn't have to wonder long.

"Heard you had a little too much fun last night," Sara said playfully, and Ryan felt a stab of relief. 

"Yeah, that's....me alright." How Sara thought he'd gotten trashed on red wine under her nose last night was beyond him, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Breakfast should be ready in a minute," she went on, "Shane's getting ready, but he'll be out soon."

"I don't mean to impose," Ryan said quickly, "I can get out of your hair before-"

"Ryan, you won't be imposing at all," Sara insisted. "And besides, I made all this bacon so it'd be rude if you did," she added with a grin. 

"Well, in that case," Ryan conceded. To be truthful, it wouldn't have taken much to convince him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a proper breakfast. Did a bagel count?

Ryan took a spot at the kitchen table to be out of her hair while she set things down: toast, butter, jam, scrambled eggs, coffee, and lots of bacon.

He was just pouring himself a cup when Shane walked in.

Shane was rolling up the sleeves of his button-down, looking distracted, when he saw him too.

He looked more handsome than he had any right to look, going to bed at the hour that they did. It was very frustrating. 

"Well, well, somebody's awake," Shane said not unkindly, coming to sit just in front of him.

Ryan was both relieved and made more nervous by his presence, an infuriating mix that only made him more upset with himself. Why was it so hard for him to look at him?

"Hope you managed a decent night's rest, all things considered," Shane said somewhat doubtfully, stabbing at some bacon with a fork. 

"I managed," Ryan echoed, not meaning it the way it came out. "No, I...I really appreciated it, Shane."

He forced himself to meet his eyes, and Shane beamed at him, all soft gaze and softer looking hair, and he had to look away like he'd been staring too long into the sun. Maybe he had been more drunk than he had thought. 

 Ryan reached for his cup and was startled as Shane's hand rested, briefly, upon his own, a wordless acceptance of his thanks that made his heart pound in his ears.

He registered things in fragmentary pieces: Shane's fingers, long and pale; the palm of his hand, soft and warm; the pad of his thumb, lightly calloused as it brushed over his knuckles.

Had any man ever touched him like this before? Andrew's echoing proclamation of queer echoed in his mind and he startled as soon as Sara came into view, almost spilling his coffee onto the table. Shane stabilized it, his hand, and then removed it—not with the same guilty, furtive look Ryan had shot Sara, but with one that seemed almost afraid of overstepping his boundaries. 

Christ.  

Sara sat at the spot next to him, humming a little to herself like she noticed nothing amiss and Ryan stretched to distract himself from his own awkwardness. 

"Oh, are you all stiff?"  Sara asked sweetly, and she gave his shoulders a quick squeeze. He tried not to look down her robe when she did so, suddenly much closer to him than a moment before.

His traitorous brain didn't seem to fret over _that_ touch as much, but he needed it to stop before he embarrassed himself. 

"No, I'm-I'm okay," Ryan said unconvincingly, his voice suddenly pitched higher than normal, and he knows he grew tenser under her touch. 

"Okay," she said easily, and she gave him another pat on the back, and sat back down on her chair and began to cut into her eggs like this was something she did for all of Shane's friends.

Maybe she did.

Ryan had just managed to get himself in check and actually tuck into his breakfast when Sara spoke again.

"Next time we should give him the bed, Shane." 

Ryan stopped chewing.

Shane seemed to be having a silent conversation with his girlfriend that lasted maybe ten seconds, though it felt like more. 

"Of course, baby," he said at last, before turning to him and Ryan swallowed and waited for the joke to land.

"Ryan," Shane said, leaning forward onto his elbows on the table with his usual sweet, ironic tone. "Our bed is always open."

The sound that came out of Ryan's throat didn't sound like him. His palms were sweating, he needed, desperately, to continue the bit, relieve some of this tension that was sitting, corked up in his chest. 

"Sure," he said, and his voice barely even wavered, "I don't take up too much space. With a little rearranging, I could move in quite comfortably."

Sara tittered as she poured herself some coffee and when Ryan looked up Shane winked. 

◉◎◉

He thought things would go back to normal (or some semblance of normal) once he got to work on Monday. 

He threw himself into it like he did nothing else, barely coming up from air from behind his typewriter and smoking like a chimney. 

Ryan thought he saw some disappointed, or worse, concerned looks sent his way from the desk near his, but he did his best to ignore it. 

Friday came and went, and Ryan was still at his desk. He could hear everyone grabbing their coats and their purses and things and leaving, and pretended to be so absorbed in it he didn't see Shane's silhouette until he couldn't feasibly ignore it any longer and forced himself to look up. 

"Hi," he said, trying for irritated and coming off hopeful.

"Hi," Shane said back at him, smiling. He had his coat over the crook of his elbow. They were probably the last people in here.

"Sara's making a roast. Thought you might-"

"I don't know, I have a lot to do," Ryan interrupted, looking down all dismissively and feeling like an asshole and Shane shut his mouth. 

"When was the last time you actually ate anything?" Shane asked, and his voice was a bit harder than usual, so Ryan looked up at him.

"Um," he bit on the end of his cigarette (not lit indoors), "I don't know," he said with a careless shrug. Probably yesterday.

Shane suddenly leaned over the desk and pulled the cig from his mouth. Ryan could practically feel the irritation coming off of Shane in waves. "Ryan, this is not food."

"Well, if I don't make deadlines, I don't get to buy food anyway," Ryan said snidely, "so it's a real goddamn conundrum." 

Just looking at Shane like this made him itch. Fuck, he needed to smoke. 

Ryan saw the fight drain out of him and thought he might leave, but instead, Shane dropped his coat onto the side of the desk and grabbed himself a chair, scooting in. 

"W-what are you doing?" Ryan asked and Shane merely took a pen out from Ryan's desk and rolled closer to look over his notes, which Ryan tried to cover, unsuccessfully, with his hands.

"I'm gonna help you," Shane said impatiently.

"You're not assigned to this story."

Shane gave him a long searching look. "I know that," he said finally, and Ryan wished his heart would calm down.

Then he sniffed and stretched, all 8 miles of him, and cracked his knuckles, rolling his neck.

"And besides. Dinner's at seven." 

 ◉◎◉

It was nearing half six when Ryan threw in the towel.

Shane was infuriating. Infuriatingly helpful, infuriatingly distracting. It was all the same.

Even he had to admit he'd gotten enough done to warrant they go home. And now, of course, he owed Shane something. 

They got in the elevator together, and both reached for the button at the same time.

Shane's thumb rested, for a millisecond, atop his own.

Ryan threw his hand back, but suddenly, finally, Shane's mile-long patience snapped. 

"What?" he asked him. "What is it that I did to you that is so...disgusting that I can't even...brush against you by accident without you acting like I..."

Ryan pressed back against the fake wooden backdrop of the elevator wall as Shane stooped over him, eyes lit with something like anguish.

"I've done nothing but be nice to you, I'm...inviting you to dinner, is that so...detestable to you?"

"No," he found himself saying, "Shane, of course not." 

"Then why do you look at me like...." Shane let in a sharp breath and something in his jaw flexed. "Sometimes you look at me, and I think....something very...like something is happening between us, and then you flinch when I so much as touch you, what the hell, man?"

"I'm not like that," Ryan's voice came out weak. "You know, I'm not like..."

"Like me? No, you're not," Shane said coldly. "You've made that very clear." 

Ryan's mind flashed back to that night, at the tiki bar, at the ride in the cab. _'I'd thought we were going to have a very different conversation....'_ Shane had said. 

"I don't suppose you'd mind so much if it was Sara who was touching you," Shane said, and this time Ryan did flinch.

Shane's eyes sparked, at this gesture, this admission of guilt.

He advanced on him and Ryan had nowhere to go as Shane pushed up against him.

Their chests were almost touching, he had an arm on either side of his head, effectively trapping him against the wall, his knee pressed between his legs. 

"When was the last time a woman touched you, Ryan?" Shane asked him in his ear, his voice carrying with it the weight of an intimate lover, a friend. "When was the last time you were touched?"

Ryan's eyes, which had been so wide since the moment Shane confronted him, trailed traitorously down, to Shane's mouth.

They were breathing hard. He didn't dare see where Shane was looking, but he could feel his gaze, burning into him like a firebrand. 

Nobody moved. 

The elevator bell dinged. 

Shane pushed off, leaving Ryan abruptly bereft and alone in the elevator. His knees gave way, watching as Shane retreated, off, alone.

The door shut and shut the outside world with it. 

◉◎◉

Ryan drove fast, sometime after 10:00 pm. 

Faster still. 

He'd found comfort in his familiar friend, malt whiskeys, and was one shot away from getting wasted enough to do something reckless like drag racing near Laguna, but he was driving back towards a familiar lonely road instead.

He must've gone through at least two red lights, but no cops were on his tail as he pulled up in front of a certain Los Angeles apartment complex. 

Spinning the keys in his hands, Ryan advanced towards it with what he felt was a large amount of swagger.

It was...something, alright.

He rapped on the door, almost ten or so times when Shane opened up.

He was wearing a plain t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms and a confused look on his face.

That just made him madder, the confusion. Like Ryan's being irrational, again, while Shane's the rational one, always. 

"Hey," Ryan poked him in the chest. "You...fucker."

He wavered a little. Wobbled on his feet.

"You think you're so nice, but really....you're a dick. You're an asshole. Pervert. Ass. Mean. Sonnovabitch." 

Shane was distinctly not arguing with him.

"You're....a jerk. And I'm..not. I'm just..."

He searched, uselessly, for the right word.

For once, Shane was no help.

"Just, what?" he asked quietly, and a lot of Ryan's liquor-proven bravado deflated out of him like a popped balloon.

"A coward," Ryan admitted. 

Nobody said anything for a long moment.

Now Ryan felt sad.

"I don't think you're a coward," Shane said after a time. 

Ryan's lower lip wobbled more than he'd like to admit. "You don't?"

"I don't," Shane said, and he let Ryan in. 

He gave Ryan some water and watched him drink it, like he couldn't quite figure him out.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Yeah," Ryan said.

And he sat there as Shane microwaved him up a plate that was already made, that had sat waiting in the fridge.

And so Ryan got his plate of roast beef and potatoes and gravy after all. 

It stuck to the roof of his mouth and the insides of his ribs in a way that was oddly comforting. 

"You're right," Shane said finally, after some minutes. "I was being a..." He pinched his lips together, knuckles white where he pressed his hands down on the countertop. "I shouldn't have advanced on you like that, that wasn't right." 

The potatoes stuck his mouth together. He couldn't talk.

"I know it seems like I got jealous, but really..." Shane let in a breath and then managed a smile in his direction.

"We can talk about it when you're feeling a little better, huh? See if you're still mad, maybe." 

Ryan couldn't imagine being mad at him right now.

 ◉◎◉

He grew really sleepy, really fast after that.

Shane helped him to the couch, helped him with his shoes and his coat, and he ended up sinking into it's cushions yet again. 

"Home sweet home," he slurred happily, eyes beginning to close.

He thought he heard Shane chuckle.

Shane went to pat him on the shoulder again after he covered him with his blanket, and Ryan stirred to reach and patted him back.

He patted his hand several times, and Shane let him.

Let his hand touch him like this.

"You're the last girl that touched me," Ryan said like it was important-it felt important, somehow, he felt Shane would know what he meant.

He felt Shane's thumb run over his knuckles before it slipped away, and his hand fell back to his side, against the leather sofa. 

"Goodnight, Ryan," Shane said softly.

But Ryan was already asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the continued support of this lil indie fix xoxo


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan's not sure how much longer he can hold himself away from them. 
> 
> (Please note, I've updated the rating. I'm not sure that it's much more explicit than it is mature, but just in case!)

The sun brought with it all the signs of a hangover, with equal helpings of confusion and regret.

He couldn't remember how he got back to Shane's place last night, but his stomach still managed to give him equal trouble with all of the wringing nerves that came with remembering their fight, even if he only could remember it in bits and pieces.

He sat up and grabbed his head when suddenly he startled when he realized someone was directly in front of him, almost making Sara drop the mug of coffee she was bringing him.

"Jesus-"

"Oh!"

I"m so sorry," Ryan said, steadying the cup for her, and his thumb brushed over Sara's hand by mistake. She met his eyes for a quick moment before she let go.

"This is for your....little bender last night," Sara said, a little more curt than she'd been with him recently.

"Thanks," he said, properly ashamed. "I'm sorry to impose-"

"Ryan," she sighed. "We told you-you were welcome here anytime. It's fine."

It wasn't. Not exactly. But it made him feel a little better anyway.

"Where's the boyfriend?" Ryan asked timidly, and Sara cut him a considering look.

"He was called into work."

"Oh," Ryan said, feeling lousier still. It was the weekend, so he must've got a lead.

"He said you could come by when you felt better."

Ryan cupped his hands more firmly around his cup of coffee and took a whiff, hoping it would jumpstart his sobriety. "Thanks."

He felt a hand in his hair and looked up as she finished combing his hair with her fingers. It felt good.

"You got bedhead," she explained softly and so he closed his eyes and let her do it, for probably too long before he remembered the elevator: Shane's accusation that he wouldn't have shied away from Sara's advances. He looked at her again and blushed.

He should say something.

"Is that better?" is all he asked, tilting his head so she got a look at his head from all angles.

Some friend he was.

Sara was looking at him fondly like there was just one piece of the puzzle he hadn't quite got just yet.

"Much better," she told him.

And funny enough, his headache was gone.

◉◎◉

When he got to the office, Shane was one of the only guys there, typing away by his lonesome. 

"Hey, pal," Ryan said so as not to spook him, and Shane glanced up and smiled. 

For a moment, Ryan almost apologized or at least asked about last night. But then, instead, he ended up saying, "What's the news?" instead. 

Shane's smile took on a grimacing quality. "Money-laundering scheme. Nothing you'd be interested in." 

Ryan swallowed his pride and took a seat, right there on Shane's desk, "Try me."

◉◎◉

Several hours later, and they were walking out of City Hall with a file of records from the Mayor's office, and Shane had already begun to gain back the spring in his step.

Shane was right. It wasn't his favorite kind of story at all, not by a long shot. But somehow, spending hours pouring over financial records on his day off was better than any time he'd spent alone. 

◉◎◉

It was after three when Ryan couldn't hold it in any more. 

"Shane," Ryan said, fiddling with the papers he had on his lap. 

"Hmm?" Shane asked, turning a page without looking up. He had a pencil behind his ear and one in his mouth, his hair pulled in all directions like it was when he was working on a more challenging lead. 

"Shane," Ryan said again, and this time Shane looked up.

He took the pencil from his mouth, held it between his long fingers like a cigarette. God, he needed to smoke.

"What is it?" Shane asked finally and Ryan knew he'd been staring. 

"I just...I wanted to apologize," Ryan began. He hated this, all of it, the way Shane's eyes took on that sympathetic hue only made him feel more like shit.

"You don't have to do that," Shane said softly, turning his page back to where he'd been at. 

"No, I do-"

"No, you don't," Shane said firmly, and Ryan swallowed.

Shane looked like he didn't know what to do with himself, but his hand finally laid, sprawled out on the closest part of Ryan he could reach, just over his knee, where it lay folded over his other leg.

"What I said... what happened in the elevator," Shane began, and Ryan couldn't look away from his hand resting on his knee. "I should have left it alone."

 'But what if I didn't want you to?' Ryan thought and then said, stupidly out loud. 

Shane let go of his leg.

"Ryan," Shane warned, his voice low.

"Shane," Ryan echoed, his heart pounding.

Shane sat back in his chair, stretching up, intentionally looking at anywhere except at Ryan.

"You don't mean that," Shane said finally.

His eyes were hot, liquid amber when they met Ryan's again, daring him to disagree, to fight him, to say or do anything. To not be a coward. To be brave.

The voice was stuck in his throat.

 "I do," Ryan whispered. 

And everything happened so quickly after that.

Shane moved so fast, Ryan flinched, half expecting a blow to the head, as Shane pushed him up against his chair, almost straddling him on the desk. 

Shane's face was so close to his that Ryan began to shake. His eyes screwed shut, he held himself as still as he could.

He could feel Shane's breath fan across his face.

Shane's hands traced down the sides of his face, his thumbs brushed his cheeks. 

"I would never do what you wouldn't ask of me to do," Shane whispers, fiercely soft, and Ryan can feel his heart about to pound out of his ribcage, rabbit quick, face aflame.

 "But maybe you...maybe you would want to touch Sara," Shane voice lowly and Ryan's eyes fly open, expecting jealousy, fight or flight kicking in.

"No, it's okay," Shane hushes him, and he strokes Ryan's hair like he's soothing a spooked animal, and Ryan leans into his palm.   
  
"It's okay," Shane says again. "I'd let you."

Ryan gasps. He's hard, practically leaking in his trousers, and if his mind isn't playing tricks on him then Shane is straining against his jeans as well.

"It's okay," Shane says a third time, his voice dark with promise. "I'd let you, you know, she'd let you too."

"Shane," Ryan whimpers, and he reaches for him and holds onto his shirt, not pushing him or pulling him but just, holding on.

"Shhh," Shane soothes him, and their bodies are almost touching, there's so much heat between them, they're not kissing, but almost, pressed together like this.  

"I wouldn't even touch you," Shane says fervently like he's reassuring him: like there's anything he could want less in the world right now, but there's a small whine in his throat as Shane holds himself back, and Ryan thinks he'd like to taste it.

Shane's hips are moving, Ryan's arch up, seeking friction, seeking touch, and Shane presses their foreheads together.

His eyes are closed, and Ryan grips on, holds him as close as he can.

"But...I'd watch if you let me," Shane says, almost guiltily and Ryan shivers violently, and he can see it in his mind's eye, can see Shane watching them as he takes Sara in their bed.

"You'd like that wouldn't you," Shane mutters, "I'd love to see you, Ryan, you're gorgeous, baby-"

And Ryan comes, a wordless cry on his lips and stars behind his eyes.

◉◎◉

He doesn't faint. He feels like he did, however, and Shane is breathing like he ran a marathon over him, and Ryan wishes he'd stop being so damn noble and kiss him. 

He wishes he'd just take what he wanted.

But Ryan can't say that, can hardly look Shane in the eye as Shane presses his lips to his forehead and lets himself up.

He disappears off into the men's room for a while.

Ryan feels sticky and cold, now, without him, but he can't bring himself to follow. 

'Selfish,' his mind chides him.  But he's also just afraid.

When Shane comes back, he's flushed pink and beautiful.

Ryan thinks things are going to be weird, but Shane just hands him a towel and says, "You wanna come over for dinner tonight?" and this time Ryan thinks he knows what that means, and this time Ryan finds himself saying Yes.

◉◎◉

They take their own cars on their way back. 

Ryan gets there second, and he knows this means Shane had a chance to speak with Sara, and he wonders what he'd say.

'Hi honey, I cheated on you, except we never kissed or touched. Is that alright by you?'

But when they let him in, he feels that energy from earlier, thrumming in this whole place.

"Ryan," Sara says, and she comes over and places her hands on his hips and kisses him.

"Hello," she says warmly, and Ryan's eyes cut to where Shane is standing, smiling, not six feet away.

"Hi," he says, face hot and breathless. 

"What was that for?" he asks like he can't help it. 

"Just missed you, is all," Sara says like she hadn't seen him just hours before.

"I would've thought you'd both be sick of me by now," Ryan confesses. 

"Impossible," Shane says, shrugging out of his coat and coming over to take Ryan's from him, too. 

Sara has that thoughtful look on her face again, and Ryan almost squirms under her scrutiny. 

"What's it going to take to get you to see we like you, Bergara?" Sara asks.  

Ryan feels his neck heat, scratching it self-consciously under her gaze. "Dunno," he confesses and she smiles.

"Don't worry," Sara promises, taking his hand. "We'll figure it out."

◉◎◉

Dinner was almost normal, the three of them eating soup and bread around their little table. 

He was getting used to this, their company, and it was dangerous. 

He couldn't stop it now if he tried. 

There was wine again, though he'd had no more than half a glass by the time Sara pushed back her chair and stood up next to him and took his hand.

Ryan took it, soft and small in his own, and looked across the table to meet Shane's eyes. 

His eyes said 'Go,' so he followed her down the hall, and into the night. 

◉◎◉

He wondered if this was some sort of misguided charity on Shane's part as he sat back on their bed and let Sara unbutton his shirt. 

Sharing his girl.

His house. His food.

Was he really that pathetic? 

But Sara drew him in for another kiss, and was shrugging out of her shift dress and he wondered if he really cared that much about being pathetic at all.

It's dark in their bedroom, the light from the hall shining on the bed like a spotlight.

He was naked, they were both naked when he saw Shane's shadow, his silhouette appear in the door.

He could hardly see him, couldn't make out his face, but he felt him, watching him.

Sara sank down on him, and he gasped and held tight.

"Ryan," she murmured in his ear. "Ryan," and he gripped her curls at the nape of her neck and fucked her, held her down and thrust into heat, his arms holding her small precious body in his embrace while her boyfriend watched the whole time.

◉◎◉

They were still lying there in the dark when Shane finally crossed the threshold and climbed into bed.

Sara was out like a light, softly snoring on one side of the bed and Ryan was halfway to dreaming, but he felt himself go very still as Shane joined them, the bed pressing down as he climbed in from the other side.

He felt the quilted blanket get pulled up and around his shoulders, felt Shane's warmth, his body heat up behind him close but not quite touching him. He could feel, somehow, that he wanted to. 

"Shane," Ryan whispered and Shane pulled the blanket up higher around him, tucking him in, keeping him there.

 _Stay_ , Shane seemed to say with his hands, before he'd pull back.

Ryan's hand reached for him, held him there, wouldn't let him take it away.

"Stay," Ryan whispered, and Shane pushed himself up and closer, covered his back and wrapped him in, and stayed. 


End file.
